Allow me to introduce you...

One of the most exciting parts of this yoga journey is the people I meet along the way--yogis of all shapes and sizes, with different backgrounds and beliefs--some who spend time on their mat and some whose yoga happens elsewhere--in the community, in their art, in their families, through service, through surviving and thriving.

Every journey is different, that's for sure, but sometimes we forget how similar we are and how much we have in common. We all work our butts off to look and feel like we've got it figured out and under control, and we all fear exposing what may be our most shared, relatable, human traits--the scared and anxious parts of us, the parts that are afraid of failure and rejection, even the parts that feel really proud but don't want to shine too brightly!

Here's a space to get to know someone new, reach out, connect, be inspired. If you'd like to introduce yourself and tell your story, contact me! It's scary as hell to put it out there--trust me, I know! If there's a story inside of you that wants to be told, but there's also a voice in your head telling you that your story's too small or too weird or not important enough, just go ahead and tell that voice to pipe down and thensend me a note!Embrace the fear! Join a community of people who are not content with anything less than being fully, bravely alive.

“Just hold on. Pain won’t last.”This is the message I saw on a poster I spotted in the Pediatric Intensive Care Unit while taking my intern on a tour of the hospital. It was the creation of a child no more than 6 years old, the drawing simple and the coloring messy in that hurried way that young children create their art. But the message was so powerful that it made me stop dead in my tracks and reflect on its meaning.

How deep. How significant. How strong this child was to come up with such a message of wisdom, of bravery, and most of all of hope.

I was most struck by a single word in that six-word message: pain. "My goodness," I thought, "these tiny children know so much about physical pain, about feeling ill, about being poked and prodded day-in and day-out. They have no privacy, no interaction with their peers. They know all too well about emotional pain and what it feels like to not be a normal, healthy child.” These medically fragile children often live in the hospital for weeks on end, hooked up to loud, cold, frightening machines. But instead of focusing on the difficulty, this child had the incredible ability to look beyond the pain. S/he had the maturity, the insight to know that there is much more to life than just pain of the present. This child, despite all that s/he must have been through, knows that pain, no matter how intense, won’t last, and that with time and patience pain subsides and eventually becomes manageable or even tolerable.

It is a difficult concept for anyone, even adults, to understand and accept. I am an adult and am still learning to cope every day with pain.

It has now been five years and I am still grieving the loss of a loved one. For the first few years, I was consumed by the pain and sadness of her dying. It was tortuous to see other people go happily about their daily lives while I was reminded constantly of my loss. I was angry and truly believed that there was nothing left to live for. I was severely depressed and anxious without anywhere to turn because I refused help. "No one understands. Why would they?," I told myself. "Fuck the world, fuck everyone." There were times when I screamed from the bottom of my lungs because the pain was too intense to keep inside. Then there were moments when I was so exhausted from crying that I could not pick myself up from the floor. There was a long period when I only ate candy because nothing else tasted good, the sugar the only substance that could dull the sharp edge of my intense grief. I tried watching comedies to see if I could still laugh and found that I couldn't. Everything fell apart; nothing made sense. I hated everyone with the same intensity that I loved her. I wanted so desperately just to be with her again.

Then there were the dreams, the best and the worst part of it all. We were together, healthy, laughing, talking, hugging -- I swear I could even smell her comforting scent. As soon as I felt whole again, happy again… I’d wake up only to realize that she was gone. It was tough, but I embraced those dreams for the moments they gave me with her, for their ability to let me feel her once again. And then there were the nightmares, the ones that made me so upset that I would literally jump out of bed. She was in pain, dying and non-verbal. In those nightmares I relived the last few weeks of her life on repeat. I would bawl and bawl and scream out for her.

Today, I am better. I’m not sure if there was a turning point or if I just made a decision to be happier. Maybe my tear ducts dried out and I couldn't cry anymore. Maybe she kicked my butt back to life so I wouldn’t waste it away. Whatever the reason, I can now honestly say that my pain, no matter the intensity, didn’t last. Of course, her absence pierces my soul and I miss her - no, crave her - presence every day. Mother’s Day will forever suck. It sucked that she wasn’t there on my wedding day. It sucks that she can’t be here to watch my adorable niece and nephew grow up—she would have loved it and been a fabulous grandmother. It really sucks that I can’t ask her about her youth, call her up to gossip or to learn her delicious recipes, or the countless other things that people get to do. I miss her cooking - man, do I miss her cooking! And without a doubt, I would do anything if I could bring her back. But I can’t. So instead I chose to hold on and to cope.

Coping does not mean "moving on" from her passing. It means carrying her forward with me as I move through my life, always with her ever-present guidance and love. It means being comforted in the knowledge and hope that one day we will be reunited. Because with the people you love the most, there is no goodbye. There is only see you later.

Meet the author! (Furreal. She's fantastic!)

Name: MihoAge: 29 Day Job: Pediatric medical social worker Dream Job: World traveling photographerIf I Had a Million Dollars: Adopt all the dogs in the world and build a house near water and mountains What I Wish Everyone Knew: Just be kind, everyone is fighting a battle What I Want: To cure cancerWhat Holds Me Back: Discomfort What Motivates Me: Making Her ProudWhat I'd Like to Let Go: Anxiety What I'd Like to Keep: Patience Biggest Fear: Losing a loved one God Is: What you want her to be Prayer Is: Meditation What is Sacred: Time Teacher: Self-reflection Quote of the Day: “Just hold on. Pain won’t last.” Current Book Obsession: Lifelong book obsession, Man's Search for Meaning, by Viktor Frankl

This is my first piece of street art, People Are People written in equal signs. Its message is about showing up as our human selves, holding vulnerable conversations, and seeking our areas of connection despite our differences. This week, I've been navigating how People Are People pertains to love. Without realizing it, I’ve almost always loved expecting a certain kind of love in return. Giving people the opportunity to shut down on me or walk away is playing Russian roulette with my confidence. I get why it’s scary and want something in exchange for my risk. I do it for love, for the hope that by putting myself out there, I’ll make a new friend who really gets me, find a partner that loves me how I want to be loved, meet a mentor who pushes and appreciates my promising potential. But in that expectation, there’s desperation, a need that’s burdening and casts a looming shadow of disappointment. The love I sought was dependent. It requires my love to be an exclusive gift, the real me something only a deserving few get to see. What I considered love is what David Hawkins describes as an “intense emotional condition combining physical attraction, possessiveness, control, addiction, eroticism and novelty.” Yea, that pretty much sums it up. Even in friendships and family relationships, remove the physical aspects of this definition, and the elements still fit. I didn’t know that I didn’t want what I was searching for until I showed up in an incredibly uncomfortable, vulnerable conversation. It was a perfectly placed stick of dynamite and I grasped at the crumbling stones of my ego as they fell. Like the chisel Jenny so wonderfully describes here, I’m grateful for the parts of me that emerged from beneath its blows. If our hearts are so sacred, why only share them with one person? Why should only a few be able to “get” us, to share in our dreams, our wounds, our ridiculous tantrums? Your anger won’t scare me, your joy won’t lessen my own. I want to know you. What if we all showed up with everyone? If we lived believing in an abundance of love rather than a shortage for which we must prove worthy and compete? Brene Brown talks about building a shame network – a group of people who understand you, people you can reach out to when someone does shut down or walk away and leave you questioning yourself. With these pillars supporting me, my own self included, I can risk letting a few bulls trample through my sometimes china-like self worth without retreating back into myself. They provide me an arena for heartfelt, often embarrassing discussions about my confused insecurities. Instead of humiliating me for my feelings, they reaffirm that I'm learning, growing and on to something. The good people are worth it. These uncomfortable conversations matter because it gives us a platform to challenge our current thinking, to inspect the beliefs we hold without question, and to dethrone them so we can live the life we might not yet know we want. People are people. Fallible. Beautiful. Unexpected. Show up. Show me who you are. Let’s enjoy our real company while we’re here.

Kate BellingarAge: 25Website: www.graceopens.com (under construction)Email/Contact: kate@graceopens.comDream Job: Novelist, sculptor, filmmaker, psychologist, and physicist rolled into one.If I Had a Million Dollars: I’d invest in ten different start-ups and spend the rest pursuing my dream job. What I Wish Everyone Knew: We don’t know what we don’t know - it doesn’t have to be the way we think it is.What I Want: To genuinely love without expecting love in return.What Motivates Me: My intuition. Certain things call to me and push me into action.What Holds Me Back: Periods of low self-worth and fear of what other people think

What I'd Like to Let Go: The spider in my room, but it’s too cold outside.What I'd Like to Keep: Long beer nights with good people.Biggest Fear: Not being loved.God Is: Everything and nothing, the grace that holds me, the flow that moves me. Prayer Is: Only as strong as your intention.What is Sacred: Individuality. Me-time. What is Teacher: Everyone I meet who thinks differently and isn’t afraid to discuss it.Quote of the Day: People are people.Current Book Obsession: 1Q84 by Haruki Murakami, The Artist’s Way by Julia Cameron.